


Twice The Light

by jamiesfreckles



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Dragon Quest XI Act II Spoilers, Except The Baby Is An Angry Ten Year Old From The Future, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Team as Family, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: When a boy appears out of nowhere in the middle of a battlefield, bearing a familiar mark on his cheek, El has no choice but to take him under his wing. He knows a little something about bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, but not much about caring for angry, desperate kids that don't want to be cared for.Luckily, the party is very well-versed in taking care of stubborn, self-sacrificing, accident-prone Luminaries, and they're more than willing to pick up the slack.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	Twice The Light

**Author's Note:**

> Working summary for this fic was: It's the Spiderman Meme. It took me so long to come up with anything and I'm still not sure it's actually good, but hopefully you get the gist. 
> 
> I was having a brainstorm and ended up thinking about how much everyone probably wants to smother Eleven with cuddles, both because he deserves them and also because otherwise he'll stand up and inevitably get into trouble. Then I thought about Eleven doing the same thing to a mini-Luminary from the future, and finally understanding his friends' loving frustrations. Thus, this story. Oh, how the turn tables. 
> 
> Please enjoy! <3

There’s a kid on the battlefield. A skinny, mangy little kid with a wild mane of hair that hasn’t been brushed in centuries, and an even wilder look in their eye. One moment Eleven is swinging his sword in a controlled, powerful arc, about to bring a Green Dragon to its knees, and the next minute there’s a kid in the way. 

Can’t be more than ten, Eleven thinks numbly, as he watches his sword descend towards the kid’s skull with unerring accuracy. There’s no time to stop his sword, or to redirect, but thankfully Jade sees it happen, and she’s _there._ One harsh, swift kick and the kid buckles, lifted off the ground and thrown across the mud. They land in a heap in the damp grass, clutching their stomach, and Eleven’s sword cleaves through the Green Dragon with a slick sound. 

The monster turns to dust with a quiet hiss, dissipating in the cool air. 

Eleven drops the sword. His fingers are numb with horror and shock, and there’s a strange burning sensation in his veins, as though they’re filled with fire and heat. The sword buries itself in matted grass, churned from the way he’s been darting back and forth, digging his feet in to keep himself upright during the battle. 

Around him, the other members of the party drop their weapons, not bothering to hide their hissed curses or pained groans. It was a long, hard fight. Jade bends at the waist, hands on her hips, and breathes out slowly and steadily. Serena starts doling out Healing Magic, but it’s sloppy and distracted, and her wide gaze is caught by the child. 

“What the hell, kid?” Erik snaps, sliding his knives away. “You popped out of nowhere! Couldn’t you tell we were in the middle of something?”

The kid doesn’t make a sound as the party gathers around him. Too busy curled up on the ground, with his hands pressed firmly to his aching stomach, he doesn’t even deign to look up. Jade’s kicks are something to fear; Eleven still has bruises from an impromptu sparring session three nights ago. But through the fog of confusion and shock, Eleven comes to the grim conclusion that the kid’s silence is from something other than pain. 

“Ay, laddie, that wasnae a sensible decision at all,” Rab says, panting. “Ye coulda been killed.”

They’re all panting, all worn out from a tough day of hiking through the wilderness outside of Octagonia, fighting everything that rushes at them from the bushes. A mile or so East sits the grand pathway leading up into the hills, where the ruins of Dundrasil crumble quietly, slowly, taking their time. They were supposed to set up camp an hour ago. Eleven blinks at the dwindling light of the horizon and wonders if it would have made a difference, if they might have avoided this if he hadn’t insisted on scouting the area, on getting stronger. 

While the others grumble and converge on the kid, asking questions, Eleven stays where he is, a little further back. He’s the only one who saw the kid’s face, blank with shock and fear and something that looked an awful lot like resignation as the sword came towards him. But even though the image will haunt him, that’s not what makes Eleven’s feet stick to the ground. It’s not the look in the kid’s eye that makes his lungs shrink and shrivel like wrung sponges. 

“That must have been terrifying,” Serena says, bending slightly to smile at the kid, though with his face turned away, he can’t possibly see her. “But you’re safe now. We wouldn’t dream of hurting you, but I would like to check and make sure you’re not injured.”

There’s no response. Numbly, Eleven turns his hands over and stares at them. The back of his left hand is lightly freckled from the sun, and covered in thin scrapes from a recent battle with a very invigorated thorn bush. The back of his right hand is emblazoned with the symbol, the Mark of Light, signifying his duty as Yggdrasil’s Chosen one. 

It’s still there. Eleven clenches his fists and drops them, releasing a shaky sigh. He’s not quite sure if what he’s feeling is relief. 

Another question is ignored, but not all of their party is as patient as Serena. Erik sighs and gets down on one knee, rolling the stubborn child over insistently with a muttered, “C’mon, kid. If you didn't want to get fussed over, then you shouldn’t have jumped in front of a Green Dragon with no weapon…”

Erik trails off into stunned silence. Eleven risks a glance at the others and finds them frozen in place, in various states of shock, staring down at the child curled up on the grass. He knows what they’ve seen, but he swallows roughly and shuffles over anyway. The back of his hand burns. 

Nobody moves aside for him, or looks his way, too shocked to do anything but stare, but that’s fine. Eleven meets the kid’s defiant, angry glare over Serena’s shoulder, and then lets his eyes drift down slightly. 

The Mark of Light glimmers faintly on the kid’s cheek.

* * *

The first thing they do is try and get the kid to talk, but he remains stubbornly silent. Erik has to dodge a couple of well-aimed kicks, and Jade catches a little fist before it can hit her in the stomach. All Eleven can do is stare at the skinny wrists and clumsy footing and wonder if he was ever that small, that weak, that vulnerable.

The second thing they do, when a Chimera comes lurching out of a clump of trees with fire spilling from its ragged beak, is relocate to a camp. The horses are tied up near Goddess Statue, and some of their bags are strewn on the ground, hidden by protective magic. The fire skitters to life with a quick snap of magic, bathing them all in a warm glow. 

“Okay, honey,” Sylv says, twirling to face the kid. “This is it! Home, sweet home!”

The kid’s gaze travels from the logs and mats spread out in the dirt, to the cow grazing on a patch of gauzy grass nearby. He scoffs. Without a second glance at Sylv, he drops down next to a pile of firewood and refuses to look at anyone. 

“Tough crowd,” Sylv says. “Never mind, I’m sure he’ll liven up once we get some food in him! Veronica, darling, you’re on dinner duty.”

A horrible, awful silence descends on them. Sylv blinks, dropping his hands, and then reaches up to rub his forehead, uncharacteristically sombre. There’s no explaining the twisting in Eleven’s stomach, and there’s no soothing the pained twist of Serena’s mouth.

Veronica’s absence never feels louder than when they’re faced with silence. 

Erik strides towards the campfire and kneels there, digging around in his pack for food. Loudly, he says, “I didn't eat her food when she was here, I’m sure as hell not eating it now. Who knows what she’s done to the stuff in the name of magical experiments?”

Eleven can recall a handful of times when Erik did eat the fruit or bread that Veronica set aside, only to hack it back up when it turned out to be covered in something nasty and herbal. It’s enough to bring a small smile to his face, and he sees it echoed in everyone else’s. Gradually, the silence decays into something softer and more comfortable. Jade and Rab fall into seats on the other side of the fire, conversing in busy, hushed tones. Serena wipes her eyes and hands Erik a packet from the bag of food. 

The kid remains stiller than the Goddess Statue, and says nothing. 

Sylv snags Eleven by the elbow and tugs him across the camp before he can protest. Not that he would, in this state. Not that he would in _any_ state, because he trusts Sylv, though the last time he said something like that, Sylv fanned his face frantically and tried fruitlessly not to sob. When they end up hidden behind one of the horses, packed close together, Eleven considers saying something. 

What he really wants, right now, is a nap. Failing that, he thinks he needs a little space. 

Under Sylv’s critical gaze, he sighs, and shelves that particular craving for now. There’s no space to be had with friends like these. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries to think, but nothing comes up. 

“Shh, darling. No need for all that, hmm?”

Eleven takes his hands away and signs, ‘I’m not crying. I’m just stressed.’

“I’m sure anyone would be, faced with their future reincarnation. Is that what we’re going with, for now?” Sylv hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his broad chest, one hand tucked under his chin. “I don't pretend to understand this fancy Luminary stuff, but I’ve heard plenty of rumours in my travels. The circus brings in all kinds of folk, you know! It’s not impossible.”

‘He is the Luminary,’ Eleven signs, using the sign they picked out just for him. It’s easier than finger-spelling. ‘I can feel it.’

“So, definitely not impossible then! Oh, how exciting.”

Eleven’s exasperated stare does nothing to diminish Sylv’s eagerness. He just waves at Eleven until he lowers his head with a groan. Nothing is going the way it should today. Absolutely nothing. 

The noise of footsteps catches them both off-guard, and then Erik appears before they’ve even had time to reach for their weapons. The fact that they heard him at all, Eleven realises, is down to the fact that he didn't want to spook them. He pats the horse as he strolls towards them, and then scans Eleven very intently from tip to toe. It’s a look that he recognises, even though he doesn’t think he’s done much to warrant it this time. 

‘I’m not hurt,’ Eleven signs. ‘I still have the mark too.’

Despite his reassurances, Erik looks his fill a little longer. Longer than necessary, no matter who’s doing the reassuring, and Eleven’s face is warm by the time he finally nods and looks away. 

“So, what are we thinking?” Erik drifts closer, intruding on their little circle, but it’s hardly an intrusion when Eleven _needs_ him close. “You think it’s a trick? Some kind of magic?”

Eleven blows out a sigh, stirring up some of his hair. He needs to tie it back and wash his face and get the mud out of his palms, but there’s a kid in their camp with the same mark as him, and that’s not something he can ignore. 

‘It’s not a trick,’ Eleven signs, meeting the kid’s glare across the fire. ‘But it’s definitely magic.’

* * *

“So, time travel,” is what Erik says, when they’ve finished their food.

The kid jerks. His bowl is still full, and he hasn’t said a single word since they all sat down to eat. He let Serena flick a cursory spell at him before scowling hard enough that they all backed off for the minute, but Serena quietly confirmed that he seemed mostly unharmed. 

It could be the shock that’s turned him quiet. Or it could be that he’s like Eleven in more than one way. 

“What?” Erik says, under the weight of all their glares. “We were all thinking it. We just found the Wheel of Time, and you’re tellin’ me you don't think it’s a bit of a coincidence that someone shows up with _that_ on his cheek? It has to be time travel. And I reckon it’s got something to do with that Wheel.”

The Wheel of Time is safely tucked inside Eleven’s bag. He can’t help but feel a certain level of fear whenever his fingers brush it, so it’s wrapped in a spare cloak and buried under the other supplies. Even the thought of the strange object sends a shudder through him. Sometimes the shudder is so strong that he can’t tell if it feels like fear or grief. 

“I agree, but I thought the plan was to be a bit gentler, Erik, darling.” Sylvando sighs and crosses his ankles, perched on a bale of hay like it’s a throne. “No matter! Best to just rip the bandage off, don't you agree?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Serena pipes up. “At least not medically.”

Rab chortles. He’s not moved far since they came back to camp, but when Eleven sat down to eat, Rab made the mighty effort of walking across the camp to join him. He’s got a hand resting on Eleven’s shoulder, and it’s comforting. He can feel the weight there when he closes his eyes, trying not to see his own mark plastered on some poor kid’s face. 

He doesn’t know what’s causing him so much distress here. It might be that he feels a certain ownership over the power that lives inside him, put there by Yggdrasil. It might be that he’s worried it will disappear the longer the kid is here, that he’ll no longer feel that warmth because somebody else has it; he knows that’s why Rab is holding onto him, reassuring himself that his Grandson is still here, still himself. It might be that. Or it might be something else entirely. 

The thing is, Eleven thinks, with no small amount of frustration: why is it necessary? Why is there another Luminary? Why is there a _child_ with a mark of light on his cheek, presumably torn from time and thrown here alone and unarmed? Is the world really so circular that things will start to go wrong again so soon? They only _just_ defeated Mordegan. The Fortress in the sky only just finished crumbling. There was barely any time to rest and recuperate before they were traipsing across the lands to find the shiny thing that Erik saw, and it turned out to be the Wheel of Time, of all things. 

And now there’s a kid here, and all Eleven can think is that he’s too young, and always will be, to have to face these sorts of burdens. 

‘I agree,’ El signs, catching their attention. Including the kid, who narrows his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. ‘Something happened, something involving Time, but I don't think it was on our end.’

The kid turns to stone under their sudden undivided attention. 

“Ah,” Sylv says, sounding understanding and vaguely amused at once. “Playing with something you shouldn’t, huh, honey?”

The kid curls his fists in his lap. Hunched over like that, but somehow still as rigid as a tower, he looks like the ruins turning to dust behind him. Dundrasil stood tall for years, and even now the bits that are left do their best to uphold their history. Eleven tucks his own fist in his pocket and shakes his head, but Sylv doesn’t see him. 

“Mistakes happen,” Sylv says kindly, with a cheerful little smile. “We were about to mess around with time too, so we can’t tell you off! But it might help if you let us know how we can help, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure with our combined knowledge, and your information, we can find a way to bring you home,” Jade adds. She’s been quiet so far, and Eleven wondered if she saw what he did, but apparently not. Or she wouldn’t say that. 

In one quick motion that startles them all, the kid shoots to his feet and leaps over the untouched food at his side, sprinting towards the nearest crop of trees. 

“Hey,” Erik says, scrambling upright, but not fast enough. “Hey, kid! Fuck.”

“There’s too many monsters, and he doesn’t have a weapon,” Jade says, alarmed. She bows low like she intends to spring forward. “We have to catch up with him.”

But the kid is fast, and it’s getting dark quickly. Eleven looks up at the sky and then at the flickering fire. The kid didn't take anything with him. It’s dark and edging towards the colder part of the year, and something in the air warns of rain. As the others grab weapons and gear, divvying up directions between them, Eleven looks up at Rab’s face and knows they’re on the same wavelength. 

‘He doesn’t want to go home,’ Eleven signs grimly. ‘Whatever’s waiting for him there, it’s worse than facing down monsters in the dark. Or he might already have to do that. That might _be_ what’s waiting for him.’

Rab bows his head, releasing a deep sigh. “Ay, I saw it too. That boy was scared, more scared than anyone I’ve ever seen. But he’s got fire in him, and a will to survive. He wouldnae pulled a stunt like this if he didnae plan on making it to the morn. Now, you stay here and keep an eye on the fire. Any luck, it’ll guide the wee one home while we stumble around in the dark.”

“Rab, El,” Jade says, breaking apart their conversation, concern etched deep in her eyes. “We’re taking the North corner. He might head for Octagonia, if he recognises the lay of the land from his own time.”

“True enough, Princess,” Rab says, heaving himself out of his chair with a chuckle and a sudden spring in his step. “Best be on our way, then!”

Rab’s hand leaves Eleven’s shoulder, and his it slides away, he feels suddenly cold. With a shiver, he draws his cloak tighter around him, and shuffles closer to the fire. It makes sense to fill a lantern with a few coals before it grows too dark, so that he won’t have to sit too close and scare the kid away if he comes back. 

“You’re not coming with us?” Erik frowns, stalking closer. He kneels down suddenly, taking Eleven by surprise, enough that he jolts and only calms again when Erik grabs his wrist. His hands are warm and callused, rough against his bare skin, but his tough is gentle. It always is. 

“Calm down,” Erik says. “I was just checking on you. We’ll find him, alright? You’re with me?”

‘I’m staying here in case he comes back,’ Eleven signs, shaking his head. Erik’s hand drops away, and his eyebrows flit up in surprise. ‘Trust me on this. I think I know what’s going on in his head.’

Because even now that the darkness of Mordegon has passed, the burden still haunts Eleven. The losses, the failures, the missteps; all of it lingers in his dreams, turning them to nightmares, and dogs his steps with relentless vigour. Being the Luminary is an act of light and warmth and protection, but it is violence too. It isn’t an easy path. He never knows how to explain it when he’s asked, if he’s asked, and so far most of his friends seem to understand it well enough without an explanation. Most of the time they slap him upside the head and tell him not to be so big-headed, it’s not all about him. And he loves them for that. 

But it doesn’t make that little dip in Erik’s brow any easier, when he realises this isn’t quite something he can relate to. 

“I trust you,” Erik says. “You know me, I’m a trustworthy guy.”

It’s said with enough dry humour to cover up the shining truth of it. Eleven offers him a small, thankful smile, and watches him until he’s vanished into the darkness with the others. Then he fills a lantern with fire and retreats to the edge of the camp, staring down at the mark on his hand while he waits for the kid to come back.

* * *

Noises at the edge of his consciousness jerk Eleven awake. He was reading, but he must have dozed off; the campfire has dulled slightly without his attention, but there’s the scuffle of boots nearby that says this isn’t an issue. With any luck, Eleven thinks, shaking away the last cobwebs of sleep, it’ll be his friends returning with the kid in a loving headlock, or the kid on his own two feet.

Eleven puts the lantern down on the grass and sets aside his book, peering towards the edge of the camp. When the kid stumbles into view, covered in bruises and scrapes, El knows nothing but the violent urge to get up and help. But he doesn’t. He bites his tongue and crosses his legs more comfortably, watching the kid draw closer. He can see the second he’s spotted. 

The kid stops at the very edge of the camp, stilling like a hunted rabbit. When Eleven doesn’t do anything more than wave, the kid straightens slightly, eyeing him warily. He seems to be at a loss for what to do, which makes two of them. 

‘You’re here,’ Eleven signs eventually. Then he grimaces at his own stupidity. It’s not likely that the kid knows how to sign. El’s friends aren’t even that confident at it, after months and months of practice, and this kid has only known them for a few hours. 

“I’m here,” the kid agrees. 

Stunned, Eleven shuts his mouth with a quiet click. ‘You know sign language. That’s strange.’ 

“Not really.” The kid shrugs, and then signs, ‘Where I come from, people know it from a young age. It is supposed to honour someone important.’ 

The wording is stiff and the motions aren’t quite as fluid as they should be, but it’s still impressive. Eleven pats the ground next to him, but the kid eyes it warily before dropping down where he stands, a few feet away. 

“You didn't come to look for me.”

‘The others did.’ Eleven gestures at the empty kid, then adds, ‘I stayed here in case you came back. Luckily.’

“I know they did, I could hear them stomping about. None of you know much about being quiet or subtle, do you? I’m not surprised you end up facing down dragons if you don't know how to hide. You can call me Tor, by the way,” the kid says. “That’s my name. Tor.” 

‘Short for anything?’ Eleven asks, as his mind ticks and ticks, dissecting the conversation and coming up empty.

Tor shrugs one shoulder with all the belligerence afforded to someone approaching their teenage years. “Tormund. Torville. None of Tor business?” 

That’s enough to make Eleven snort with laughter, both from surprise and the sudden appearance of sass. It’s a very Erik way of avoiding the question. It’s only been a few hours since he last saw Erik, and yet Eleven finds himself missing him right now. Things are always easier, always better, with Erik at his side. 

‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m E-L.’ 

“I know that,” Tor grumbles. “I listened while I was here. You seemed like the do-gooder type, so I thought you’d have gone out with the others when they left to find me.” 

‘I’m glad I didn't,’ El explains, sparing a glance for the darkness outside of the camp. ‘I would have missed you, otherwise. You’re not hurt?’ 

Tor shakes his head slowly. His hair is a bit shorter than Eleven’s, but much dirtier, and without the shine that Eleven is secretly proud of. It’s darker too, and curly. All of him is a bit grubby, and Eleven kind of wants to wrap him in blankets and introduce him to a bar of soap, but considering his penchant for running, it probably wouldn’t go down well. 

‘There’s still food left, if you want some,’ Eleven signs. ‘You must be starving by now.’

That earns him a considering look. It’s sort of blank, and sort of hesitant, like he’s trying to judge the truth of Eleven’s words. Eleven doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t want to think about what that means. Why does he look like he’s trying not to hope, when presented with the possibility of food?

‘Seriously,’ Eleven signs, keeping his gaze soft. ‘Help yourself. We have plenty.’

Tor’s gaze snaps towards him. He holds it for a bright, intense two seconds, before ripping his gaze away and lurching towards the soup bowl that he abandoned preciously. Eleven almost offers to warm it, or to make a fresh bowl, but he doesn’t get a chance. Tor tips the bowl against his mouth and slurps it up greedily, licking at the broth like it’s the last meal he’ll ever eat and he wants to savour it. He licks it off his fingers and the edge of the bowl and then he licks the inside of the bowl once it’s empty, and when he puts it down, Eleven can see his fingers shaking. 

‘Been a while,’ Eleven signs, but Tor doesn’t see it. He’s too busy bowing his head and swiping his hand over his eyes, fighting back tears. Eleven doesn’t say anything. His heart twists uncomfortably in his chest, and he thinks again of Yggdrasil and her promises, her Chosen ones, and he doesn’t like the slightly bitter feeling in his chest. 

Not because it’s his power, and this child has stolen it. But because nobody should ever have to wield it in the first place. 

Tor sits up with slumped shoulders, wiping his eyes one final time. He lets out a hiccupy gasp and then glares at El, challenging him with a tilted chin. “Don't say anything,” Tor snaps. “Time travel takes a lot out of you.”

Eleven is fairly certain that’s not it, but he decides not to comment on it. Not yet. Instead, he inclines his head and signs, ‘So it was Time?’

At first he thinks he’s hit another wall, judging by the way Tor’s shoulders come up, but then his glare recedes, and he digs his fingers moodily into the ground. 

“Yeah. It was Time Travel. I broke into this tower and did something stupid, but your friend was wrong. I wasn’t playing around with anything, and I didn't make a mistake. But somehow it still went wrong anyway.” 

He doesn’t sound particularly surprised by this, but he does seem frustrated. Eleven shuffles a bit closer, pushing the lantern towards him absently as he frowns, thinking. Tor watches him uncertainly before taking the handle of the lantern gingerly between his grubby, cold fingers. 

‘You meant to travel through Time,’ Eleven signs. ‘Back or forward?’

And he didn't even think of that, not at first, but it sends him reeling. He stares dizzily at the child before he realises that, familiar as he is, he looks nothing like the statues standing tall across Erdrea. As far as he’s aware, this isn’t a Luminary from the past. 

“Back,” Tor confirms, grumbling the words as he scowls at the dirt, grinding it under his palm while the others hovers close to the lantern, where it’s warm. “I got that bit right. Dundrasil looks old, but it doesn’t look _that_ old. That’s where we are, right?”

Eleven swallows thickly. A quick glance to the East shows the ruins, barely visible in the dark. _Dundrasil looks old._ Rab has been making noises about re-building Dundrasil now that the danger has passed. He wonders if the ruins stand tall now, if the crumbling stone grows warm under the sun, if the streets are full of markets and stray cats and children playing. He imagines a Kingdom worn thin over the years, but the way paintings do; faded and aged but still thick with the brushstrokes of life. 

‘The outskirts, but yes,’ Eleven signs, pushing back the wave of longing in favour of answering the curious child nearby. ‘So if you meant to land here, then how did everything go wrong? Do you mean the battle?’ 

The lantern flickers as Tor draws it closer with another grumble. “I figured it’d be dangerous. I thought I might land somewhere like that, ‘coz I wasn’t thinking of a place. I was trying to find someone, but he’s not here. She said he’d be here, which means I did something wrong.” Tor hunches his shoulders again, a frustrated growl ripping from him. “Now I don't know what the hell to do, but you can’t send me home.”

Eleven blinks in surprise. He doesn’t understand most of this. It would be better if Rab and Jade came back, if Erik was here to break through the parts that need breaking with his blunt manner, if Sylv and Serena were here to smooth over the hurt pieces. He knows nothing of comforting children, and nothing of Time and what it can bring back. He only knows what you can lose. 

‘If you tell me who you were looking for, maybe I can help you find them,’ Eleven offers. That’s about the only thing he can think of to do. ‘We’ve travelled almost everywhere, and met plenty of people. I’m sure someone will know what to do.’

Tor looks up with a jerky motion, eyes narrowed. “What? You’re not gonna threaten to send me home again?”

‘It wasn’t a threat. We didn't know you didn't want to go back.’

“I do.” Tor curls his fists again and grimaces, and Eleven can only think that he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. “I do want to go back. Just not yet. Not until I find the Luminary.”

The fire splutters, and it sounds almost like laughter. Bright, teasing, warm laughter. This close to Dundrasil, Eleven always gets this feeling that his parents are close to him, that they’re watching him grow. He doesn’t remember them, of course, but if he could, he imagines that his mother would laugh like that. Bright, teasing, and warm. 

He thinks, right now, that he probably deserves the mockery for flat-out forgetting to tell the future Luminary that he’s the _current_ Luminary, but he can’t help but send a slight glare at the stars regardless. 

“What?” Tor says, staring at him suspiciously when Eleven lowers his gaze and lets the glare slip away, replacing it with tired resignation. “What, are you saying you know him? You know the Luminary?”

That little thrill of hope in his tone is enough to make Eleven stand gracefully. He walks the few paces it takes to reach Tor and kneels again before the kid can scramble away, or shout in protest, or throw a punch. He hears noises in the background - and it’s possible that Tor wasn’t wrong about them being loud and unsubtle, because that is definitely Rab’s booming laughter and Erik’s answering snippy tone - but he ignores them in favour of rolling up his sleeve. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Eleven signs carefully, the light from the lantern catching on his pale fingers. ‘I forgot that you wouldn’t know. I didn't think to show you. And forgive me, but considering how much has happened, it just slipped my mind.’

Stupid, really, to forget that only one half of them knew what was going on. But he decides to cut himself some slack, and turns his hand over, presenting it to the kid carefully. 

Tor takes one look at the mark of light, emblazoned on Eleven’s hand, and raises his own trembling hand to touch his cheek. There’s a slight glimmer of awe in his eyes. Then he raises them to meet Eleven’s gaze, and something in them changes. 

“You’re the Luminary,” Tor says. “I wasn’t wrong.”

Eleven smiles. And he’s so busy smiling that when Tor lurches forward, he misreads it as a gentle, relieved sort of lurching, and only works out his mistake when the kid releases an ear-splitting yell and punches him straight in the stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> Mini-Luminary is a n g e r y. 
> 
> I have tentatively put three chapters because I think that'll be enough. I don't want this to be a sad ending, so don't worry, it won't be. I make the rules here. NO sad endings. Ta-da! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it so far! <3


End file.
